


First Course

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: F/M, Prostitution, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every so often Zach can't resist the unbearable urge to buy himself the services of a frilly, girly, female sex worker for the express and sole purpose of giving her a spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Course

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ewinfic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ewinfic).



He only has one main requirement: petite. As for hair color, he’s flexible, though he likes redheads and blondes. There’s something more innocent about them, something he doesn’t see when he looks in a mirror.

Young is also good. And button-cute. Sweet. They often make a soft sound of understanding over the phone when he mentions “sweet.” But she has to be petite and dressed in something frilly and lacy—textured fabrics that will feel consistently foreign under his fingertips.

This one fits the bill perfectly, in a crisp, ruffled white top and a terribly short excuse for a skirt. She’s wearing garters, which is more than he expected to get; he slides his hands beneath the fabric and traces their edges reverently. He always marvels over the delicate things women get to wear—purely ornamental, superfluous for all but another’s pleasure.

He unzips the skirt and lets it fall but leaves the garters on.

She unfolds across his lap like a candy-scented dream, shivering when his fingertips lick at the backs of her ivory thighs. When she looks up at him, he notices for the first time that her eyes are green, too green to be natural. More decoration, just for him. He quirks a satisfied smile as he delivers the first smack across her backside.

The air fills with the gasps and echoes of needy breaths as he takes his fill—no words, just as he instructed. He licks his lips and feels his pulse surge with every twitch of her limbs, every soft, kittenish cry coaxed from her parted lips. This is his and no one else’s; no one can take this feeling from him. Her exposed cheeks flush like dyed rose petals, his palm leaving telltale marks. She takes it so well, so elegantly, and he knows he’ll be asking for her again.

He feels dampness against his thigh when they’re done and he tells himself not to feel proud, but the smile peeks through, all the same. A careful hand inks an invisible line from her nape to the small of her back, tucks two neatly folded bills beneath the elastic strap of one garter. The green stands out brightly against her pink and cream striped skin: a bright signature on a hazy watercolor.

Ten minutes after she’s gone he’s by the mirror, adjusting his tie and preparing to conquer the evening. He pockets the room key as well as the pillow mint, and lets the bedside lamplight dim to black.


End file.
